Ancients and Angels II: The Balance of the Universe
by E.R. Kline
Summary: After a short period of peace, the world is being plagued by dreams of their Alternate Universe counterparts. Apparently, the balance of the entire universe has been thrown off and it's up to the nations to save the day, once again. (I highly recommend reading the first story in this series, Ancients and Angels, because it may be a bit hard to understand otherwise.)


Chapter One

For more than one night in a row, France found himself waking up in agonizing pain. Not only had he had a horrible nightmare, but the long claw marks on his arm, which had long since scarred over, burned with invisible fire. It was absolutely dreadful.

In the dream, he was alone, so alone that he couldn't stand it. He stood in a large open field under a white-blue sky, surrounded by huge, shimmering stones. He knew this place all too well. This was where he had taken part in the battle of the millennium.

Suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore. He stood before a figure looking too much like himself for comfort. This "reflection" had his face and body but with darker eyes and lighter hair. He knew the name and found himself speaking it. "Francois."

Francois narrowed his eyes at him. "So, you can see me," he said in his voice, much gruffer than his own.

"_Oui," _said France. "What do you want?"

Francois reached out and touched his arm, running his hand down the three parallel scars that mirrored ones on his own skin. "Your help. You have to come back."

"I thought you said we'd never have to come back."

"Yeah, well, I lied," said Francois. "I'll revisit you tomorrow night."

"Please don't."

"You haven't got a choice, _mon ami," _Francois said with a grin.

That's always when he woke up, the scars on his arm still burning from Francois's touch. He hated the dreams. He hated Francois. He hated the Netherworld, where he always found himself when he closed his eyes. After a few nights he had stopped sleeping entirely, to avoid encounters with the horrible man again.

He didn't seem to be the only one losing sleep, though. England had called a world meeting scheduled for Monday and more than half of the countries happened to show up late, all coming in with dark, flaccid bags under their bloodshot eyes, gripping their mugs of weak, British coffee for dear life.

One of the worst cases seemed to be Canada, his own former colony, who was concernedly irritable, which was something highly unusual for him.

Instead of carrying his plush polar bear, Kumajirou, like he usually did, the animal had been carelessly stuffed in his knapsack. His fingers were wrapped tightly around his Styrofoam cup of what smelt of black coffee and whiskey, an odd combination of beverages for someone who usually preferred hot cocoa or maple-flavored tea. He flung himself down at the table, frowning.

"Are you alright?" America asked, struggling to keep his eyes open as he rested on his elbow.

"No!" Canada cried, louder than anyone had ever heard him before. "I'm not! I'm tired and I want to go to sleep but I _can't _because every time I manage to doze off, even a little, I'm in the goddamn Netherworld with Matthieu and he's telling me to come back and help him do something but he won't tell me what because he's a _jackass!" _

"Wait..." Germany said, lifting his head a little. "You've been having the dreams too?"

"Sealand and I aren't the only ones? I figured it was just an English thing!" exclaimed England, dropping his pen at the head of the table.

Russia shot a glance to China, who sat next to him. "What are you thinking about this, Mr. China?"

"Well," said China, "how long have you been having these... dreams?"

"For a like a month now," America answered. "For me, they started about three months after we got back from our rescue mission."

Germany nodded in agreement. "_Ja, _that's around when they started for me."

"What about Italy and Prussia?" England asked.

"I know Prussia's had them a few times but he's still been sleeping fine. He's sick with a cold so I don't blame him but still. Italy, though... I don't think so. If it's the Other Colors coming to visit us in the dreams, Italy hasn't got a counterpart left, so I wouldn't imagine he's having them," Germany responded.

"Hey, where _is _Italy, anyhow?" queried America.

Germany made a face. "He's visiting with his brother and Spain this week and didn't want to cut his vacation short to go to a meeting."

"I figured you'd go with him," France said. "You _are _dating, after all..."

Germany blushed. "Mmm, _ja, _but I'm not really the... leisurely type. That and Romano wants me dead and I'd rather _not _deal with that..."

From his spot at the table, China crossed his arms. "It seems like you all messed something up when you went to Netherworld. Maybe I could have helped if somebody would have invited _me _to go on cool trip too," he huffed.

"Come on, China," America said with an exasperated sigh. "We _told _you that it was a spur of the moment thing! We didn't _purposely _leave you out!"

"I still can't believe you didn't think that maybe China would have answers since I _am _only ancient left!" China turned up his nose and flipped his jet black ponytail over his shoulder. "You even told Russia and Japan about big adventure! No one tells China anything!"

"Relax, China," England said, rolling his eyes. "We already said we're sorry. What more do you want?"

"I'll let you know when you make it up to me," China snorted.

"Well, we promise that, if we ever go on another journey to the Netherworld, we'll let you in on it, Okay?" France offered.

China nodded with a noise of approval. "Good. Now, can we go home now? Because I'm getting sick of you all and your stupid dreams."

"Absolutely not," said England. "We've barely discussed anything at all!"

China groaned. "No fun. This meeting is boring."

"I agree completely," Canada answered, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Oh, lighten up, Canada," America said. "We get it, you're tired. But you don't have to act like an asshole."

Canada's eyes darkened. "Well, you're one to talk."

"What's _that _supposed to mean!?" America yelped, slamming his hands down on the table.

"It means that you're a dick! Why should I be civil all the time when you don't have to be!?" Canada countered.

"Do you wanna go, Canada!?" America shouted, jumping to his feet.

"You betcha I do!" Canada snarled, lunging for his brother across the table. His fist nearly collided with his brother's face but France held him back and England pulled America away.

"Canada, _ce_ _qui dans le monde _has gotten into you!?" France cried, pushing his underling into a chair.

"And you, America!" England growled, turning on his own former colony. "I thought I taught you better than this! And here you are, fighting with your own brother!" He tsked and shook his head. "Both of you boys should be ashamed of yourselves."

"I'm sorry," America muttered, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry too," said Canada, slumping in his seat.

Germany stood up, looking as if he had dozed off during the scuffle. "I'm going to have to excuse myself for a moment. I've got to make a phone call."

"Is it to Italy?" Russia asked, smiling.

"That's none of your business," Germany said, cheeks reddening, leaving the room. He was only gone a moment before returning and taking his coat off the back of his chair. "I apologize but I've got to be going. Like I feared, Romano's trying to set my house on fire. Italy must have broken the news." He swallowed hard, slipping his arms into his sleeves.

"Give 'em hell, _Allemagne!" _France cheered, breaking into a mischievous grin.

"I agree," said England. "Don't let that little twat, Romano tell you what to do."

"He's right," America agreed. "Beat the shit out of that prick."

"Yeah!" cried Canada. "Take back your man, eh!"

Germany smirked and nodded. "Will do. Don't worry. I'm not afraid of Romano. He just makes me angry. I don't get what he has against me." His face began to flush. "I'm in a relationship with his brother _und_, _Gottverdamt, _he's got to get used to that!" Without thinking, he threw his fist at the wall, punching a large hole in the drywall.

England muttered a small squeak as the German pulled his fist back, plaster crumbling from his hand. "Ahh!" he yelped. "My home!"

Germany turned three or four more shades of red. "I'll pay for that."

"You can bet you're going to pay for it!" England yelped, getting to his feet to examine the new gap in the wall. "That's my bloody property!"

Across the table, France and America were laughing so hard they were near tears. "_Mon Dieu! _That was the greatest thing I've ever seen in all my life!" France managed.

America fell onto the table, nearly hysterical. "Dude, he punched a _hole _in the _wall! _That's so bad-ass! Germany, man, I will _pay _you to do that again! Money is no object just _please _do that again!"

Germany put his hands behind his back, sheepishly, still blushing. "I apologize. My temper seems to have... uh... gotten the best of me..."

"You're damn right it's gotten the best of you!" England snapped. "Look! You can see clear through to the other side!" He ran out into the hallway and peered through the opening.

Germany cleared his throat, trying his hardest to stay cool and collected. "I... I'm going to go... back to my house... now..." he said, rocking back on his heels. "I will... try to contain my anger the next time." He started for the exit and but stopped in the doorway, turning around. "Uh... Thank you for having me. I... I do apologize for the wall... I hope you'll forgive me... I will pay to have someone fix it."

England rolled his eyes. "Just get out before you break something else."

Germany nodded. "Fair enough. _Auf wiedersehen."_ He hurried out before England lost it.

England turned quickly and sat down in his chair, arms folded at his chest. "I'm so cross with him," he pouted, lips pursed. "Look at my poor wall..."

France chuckled, still amused. "Oh, relax, _Angelterre. _It's not his fault. He's a big man and you know it's just how he is."

England sighed. "You're right. I guess I should apologize for being so rude. He was my guest, after all." He got up and went to the window. Through the glass, he could see the bulky blonde getting into his jeep in the driveway. "Dammit. It's too late." He stepped away from the window and returned to his seat. "Oh well. I'll call him later."

"You bastard! I'm going to burn your stupid German house down!" Romano screamed from his place on Germany's front lawn where he stood with a gallon of gasoline and a box of matches. The Italian's face was as red as a tomato and his golden-green eyes smoldered with rage. "I hate you! I hate you so much!"  
This was what Germany came home to. As soon as his car rolled to a halt in his driveway, he leapt out and pulled a handgun from his holster, aiming it at the hostile visitor. "Romano! Get off my property or I swear, I will shoot you!" he shouted.

"You stay away from my _fratello!" _Romano snarled, splashing some of the gas onto the front porch.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Romano!" Germany warned, stepping closer, pistol still pointed at the dark-haired Italian. "I _will _kill you!"

"Go ahead! Shoot me, you stupid, Aryan dickface! I don't care! I don't think I can live in a world where my little brother is dating a potato bastard like you anyhow!" Romano almost sobbed, spilling more gasoline on the porch steps.

"Romano... I'm warning you!"

Suddenly, in a flash of bright red, Italy drove up in his Ferrari, missing the driveway completely and skidding to a halt in the yard. "Stop! Stop it!" he cried.

"Veneziano!" Romano shouted, throwing the gas can down on the grass as Italy slammed the door of his car. His face fell as his younger brother ran for Germany instead of him. "Italy!"

"You should leave, _fratello_," Italy said, looping his arm around his boyfriend's, the German still keeping his gun steady on Romano. "You shouldn't have come here."

"Italy," Romano pleaded, "you can't be serious! You two aren't _really _DATING are you?"

"We are," Italy said, his hand finding Germany's, "and I really, really like him a lot. I think I might even love him."

Germany's face remained stony but his ears turned bright red and he squeezed Italy's hand.

"No, no, no!" Romano groaned. "I can't believe you would do this to me!"

Italy scrunched up his face in a frown. "This isn't even about you, Romano! It's my life! I can date whoever I want!"

"I forbid it!" Romano hissed, picking the gas can up off the ground and stepping onto the porch.

"Romano..!" Italy cautioned. "Don't you dare!"

Romano sloshed the fuel onto the door of the house until it was gone. Then he lit a match, glaring at Germany as he held the flame out, threatening to drop it in the pool of petrol that covered the porch.

Still expressionless, Germany cocked his gun; it made a sharp click.

Romano dropped the match.


End file.
